Mardi Gras Fling
by and-im-feelin-good
Summary: Santana talks Rachel into cutting loose at Mardi Gras.  It was just supposed to be one night.  This is a Puckleberry story.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For those of you reading 'Dress You Up In My Love' - I promise I haven't forgotten. Real life's been busy, and Tuesday just isn't playing nice. I still plan to finish it, just had to step away and write something else.**

**M - for language and smut in future chapters.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. **

"Rachel, it's been ten months!"

"Nine, Santana. It's been nine months."

"Ten, nine, whatever. You're stressed and bitchy and you need to get laid."

"I was with Garrett for almost two years. I'm just not ready for another relationship."

"I didn't say shit about a relationship. I _said_ you need to get laid."

Rachel just blinked at her as if she was speaking another language.

"Don't look at me like that. You need a fling, a hook-up, a one night stand. I know you've heard of em, I mean, you've _met_ me right?"

"Santana, I don't think . . ."

"Good. Don't think. It's spring break. Just come with me to Mardi Gras and have some fun for a change. You're single. Your smokin'. You need to sew some wild oats before before you end up married to Mr. Boring McNiceguy."

"And what _exactly_ is wrong with nice guys?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all . . . as long as they're not boring as fuck."

Rachel huffed and crossed her arms.

"Come on B. It's one little trip. We'll drive, see some cool stuff, spend three days in New Orleans, and drive back. One little trip, then you can go back to your celibate ways. You're young. Live a little."

Rachel was pretty sure this was a very bad idea, but it _had_ been a long time, and maybe she did have _one_ wild oat to sew.

"Fine. I'll go."

"Yes." Santana pumped her fist triumphantly.

OO

It was Fat Tuesday. Mardi Gras. Their third day in New Orleans, and tomorrow they were starting their road trip back to New York.

Santana typed out a text to Rachel.

'How'd it go?'

'It didn't. In your room? Can I come over?'

'Yep.'

Santana opened her hotel room door, and looked into the hall. Rachel emerged from her own room and crossed into her friend's.

"What the hell happened? I saw you leave with that guy."

Rachel scowled and looked at the floor, searching for an explanation. "You remember Blane in high school?"

"Shit Rachel. You'd think, as a theater major, you'd develop _some_ kind of gaydar!"

"Hey! If he wasn't sure, how the hell was I supposed to know!"

"Whatever. I'm just saying you suck at picking guys. I mean Sunday you're playing therapist for some guy whose hung up on his ex, and last night you're shoving one out of the closet."

"It's not like I didn't try Santana! Maybe I'm just not cut out for this no strings hook up thing."

"You're cut out for it just fine. You just need to quit looking for a nice guy. You're not looking for brilliant conversation and emotional depth here. There are plenty of guys out there who'd be happy to give it to you good. Maybe you just need ME to help you find one."

"Santana! Must you be so crass? And no, you will NOT be picking a sex partner for me!" Rachel hissed the last part in a whisper, as if there was someone there to hear her. "I am perfectly capable of doing this. I'll just have to adjust my strategy. Perhaps you're right. I just need to look for a different type of guy. I can do this. I can."

OO

_I can't do this._ Rachel sat at the bar wondering if maybe she should just give up. She had chatted with a nice guy, but nice was off the table. She had also been hit on by several sleazy guys, and for the love of Barbara, that just wasn't happening. Santana had disappeared with a hot blond a while ago, so maybe she'd just head back to the hotel. All her efforts seemed a waste now. She had her hair fixed all wild and sexy, and Santana had picked tight strapless purple dress for her. She had painted a green and purple mardi gras mask on her face with glitter and gold stars. She looked the perfect combination of festive and hot, but she felt neither.

As she sat watching the club she noticed an couple of very attractive guys heading for the bar. They were both wearing snug t-shirts, and were nicely built. One had shaggy blond hair and a charming boyish smile, but the other one - the other one made her mouth go dry. He was extraordinarily delicious. Dark hair cut quite short. Strong jaw. Full sexy lips. She realized she was staring, and looked down at her drink.

"Two beers." The dark haired one said, then turned to his friend as they waited. Rachel listened to their conversation, and tried not to be too obvious about watching them.

"Sam! I thought you cut her loose?"

"I tried man, but she had a bad week, and I just . . . I will, I will."

"Dude, you can't pity date her forever, and waiting'll just make it worse. It's like a band-aid, just rip that fucker off and move on."

"Puck, you are really a dick sometimes."

"Oh, and leading her on is nice?"

Sam groaned. "I know . . . why do I always get in these situations. . . never mind, don't answer that."

"Course you don't want me to answer, cause you _know_ the answer. You don't see any clingy chicks following me around, do you? I've told you the rules. You just _never listen_."

"Not everybody wants to be a sex-shark. I'm not anti-girlfriend like you."

"You want a girlfriend, fine, get a girlfriend. No one's stopping you. But if you're trying to pretend that you're out with me every weekend, picking up slutty drunk women . . . because you want a girlfriend . . . pft. Don't lie to me and don't lie to yourself."

Sam started to speak, but Puck kept going.

"And as long as this is what you're doing. No virgins. No repeats. No staying till morning. No teenagers, which I shouldn't even have to say after Kitty or Katie or -"

"Kimmy was nineteen!"

"Exactly nineTEEN, and how did that work out?" Rachel saw his smirk as she glanced up through her lashes. "No dinner. No going to your place EVER."

The bartender handed them their beers, and they walked away. Rachel heart raced as she realized this was _exactly_ the kind of guy Santana was talking about.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: ****Thank you so much for the reviews and notifications! I'm glad people are enjoying this story. It really encourages me to keep going.**

**This is another short chapter, but a bit longer than the last. They're probably all going to be pretty short. For some reason, that's what's working for me right now.**

**M - for language and smut in future chapters.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

Puck rattled off the rules to Sam for what had to be the thousandth time. "No virgins. No repeats. No staying till morning. No teenagers, which I shouldn't even have to say after Kitty or Katie or -"

"Kimmy was nineteen!"

"Exactly nineTEEN, and how did that work out?" He watched Sam glare at him, but knew he wouldn't argue that point. "No dinner. No going to your place EVER."

The bartender handed them their beers, and they walked toward a vacant spot on the far wall.

"You know the problem with your rules? Sure, they'll keep you from getting mixed up in something you don't want, but you'll also never get mixed up in something you DO want."

Puck just rolled his eyes and kept walking.

OO

Rachel continued to sit at the bar, her heart thundering in her ears. She tracked Puck's movement as he and his friend made their way to the opposite side of the room and leaned against the wall. Prior to this moment, her intimate experiences consisted of quick-and-disappointing (her high school boyfriend), and sweet-and-gentle (her college boyfriend). Rachel considered the advice Santana had given her over the past few days. She had told Rachel that she was a passionate person, and needed someone to 'rock her world'. (She also said several other things that don't bear repeating). Rachel finally thought she might understand the advice. She felt something unfamiliar, something primal, as she watched Puck, and she found it surprisingly appealing. She felt the tingle of excitement as she decided Santana was right. For once she was just going to do something wild. Something totally crazy. She was going to do this. She _wanted _to do this.

Now she just needed to know_ how_ to do this. Picking up a stranger in a bar was not exactly in her skill set. She'd rarely ever met anyone in a bar, and when she had, they'd approached her. She'd been asked to dance or offered drinks. A few times she'd accepted, but nothing had ever come of any of it. She wasn't sure if the same type of approach would apply when she was the one initiating. _Santana will know exactly how to proceed. Where is she?_ Rachel decided to send out an S.O.S. via text. Santana would normally let her know before she left entirely, so she was probably just _occupied _somewhere.

'Found a guy. Need your help. Where are you?'

She looked back up and found Sam and Puck had moved to the dance floor. Puck was dancing close to some girl who clearly failed to find the line between sexy and trashy. Trampy-girl leaned into him and their bodies moved together to the pounding beat. Crap. She needed to do something before she lost her chance. She moved to the edge of the dance floor and began moving to the music. She gradually weaved through people, trying to work her way toward Puck, Sam, and their new companions. She was totally unsure what she would do once she got there, but thankfully she didn't have to figure it out. She felt someone press into her back and a pair of hands begin to slide over her hips. She gave out a startled squeak before realizing Santana had received her text, and was there to help.

"Work with me Rach. We'll have the attention of every guy in the place."

Rachel sighed in relief and smiled. She giggled as she pressed back into her friend and began to shimmy down a bit. She raised her hands above her head, and shimmied back up. They continued to grind together and Santana moved to face Rachel. As she rocked against her friend, she leaned in close and spoke into her ear. "Where's the guy?" Rachel nodded toward Puck and Sam, and Santana followed her gaze. "Nice. Which one do I get?"

"I want the one with the dark hair. I heard the blond say he has a girlfriend, but he's breaking up with her. Your call. . . I mean if we can even get them away from those . . . girls." Rachel restrained herself from using a more colorful descriptor.

"Just touch me like I'm him, and when he looks at you, don't look away. You want to hold his attention. Tell him with your eyes that you want him. Trust me."

One thing Puck had learned in his 23 years of appreciating women was that, most of the time, hot on the dance floor equals hot in bed. There was a measure of comfort with your own body and ability to move that carried over. That was the reason he liked places like this one to pick up women. It was like holding auditions. Even as he moved with his current dance partner, he watched the other dancers,surveying his options, looking for someone special, someone to make this evening worth his time. His eyes eventually settled on a pair of smokin' hot brunettes. He watched them rub against one another and let out a ragged breath. The one in purple had incredible legs, and was looking intensely at him with her big chocolate eyes. He was pretty sure he wanted those legs wrapped around him before the night was over.

Just as Santana had instructed, when Puck looked, Rachel held his gaze. He didn't look away either, and that sexy smirk she'd seen earlier was back. They continued to dance with their respective partners, but their attention was focused on one another. It was electric. She felt like every cell in her body was humming with energy. Knowing she was in a strange city with people who, other than Santana, she'd never see again, made her bold. Rachel thought about how she'd like to touch him, how she'd like for him to touch her. She looked at the way his jeans hugged his thighs, as she ran her hands along the back of Santana's legs. She appreciated his back and shoulders, as she slid her hands up her friend's body. She studied the incredible bone structure of his face and decided to be just a little bolder. She ran her tongue along Santana's jaw, starting at her chin and stopping just below her ear. Her eyes never left his as she did it.

Shit! He went from pretty sure to fuckin' positive. Time to ditch the dance partner. He grabbed Sam's arm and told him he was going to get another beer, then excused himself, heading for the bar. He continued to watch the girl, not bothering to be at all subtle.

"Damn Rachel, that was hot! I'm a little bit proud," Santana teased, pretending to be choked up at the end. "I'll occupy the friend. Go get him."

"Alright, I just need a minute to collect myself, then I'm going."

OO

Santana slipped away from Rachel and positioned herself near Sam, directly in his path to the bar. She couldn't have him going to look for his friend. When the song changed and he began to head toward the bar, Santana stepped up to him and ran her hand up his bicep. She moved well into his personal space and breathed into his ear. "Hi, I'm Santana. You wanna go outside and get some fresh air?"

Sam fumbled for an answer for a moment before releasing a breath and explaining. "I'd like to, believe me, but I really can't." He started to step around her, but Santana stopped him again.

"Listen, I know you have a girlfriend you want to break-up with." Sam furrowed his brow.  
"Whatever. My friend over there heard you talking earlier. So if you're mister good-guy or something, fine. I still think you should step outside with me. See _my_ friend has had a really long dry spell, and _your_ friend seems to trip her trigger. What kind of wingwoman would I be if I didn't get _you_ out of the way?"

"Alright, fine," Sam laughed, "You lead the way."

OO

Rachel danced a bit longer, watching Puck as he waited for his drink. No more thinking. It was time for action.

She waited till she caught his eye again, and slowly crossed the dance floor. She couldn't help looking down from his face to take in his strong arms, and masculine form. When she glanced back up, he was staring openly, desire evident in his eyes. Maybe he wasn't a 'nice guy'. Tonight he was everything she needed him to be. Something about the way he carried himself left her with no doubt that he would indeed 'rock her world'. Her heart raced at the thought.

She was almost to him when he raised an eyebrow and shouted over the music, "Hey, I'm Puck."

She didn't want to talk or to think. She didn't want to lose her nerve, so rather than answer, she grabbed the front of his shirt to tug him toward her, and kissed him hard.

He was caught off guard for a second, which didn't happen all that often, but he quickly returned the kiss, splaying hands across her back, and pulling her flush against him. He was already turned on by her little show with her friend. Follow that with her crossing the room in that tiny purple dress, looking like she might devour him. Add one very hot talented mouth that tasted vaguely of some kind of fruity-girl drink. His brain pretty much shut down. He wondered briefly if she'd let him push her against the nearest wall and take her right there in the bar. Just as he pulled back slightly for a very necessary breath, she surprised him again. She nipped his bottom lip with her teeth (hot) then slid out of his embrace and began to walk away. _What the fuck!_

She only went three or four steps before she glanced back over her shoulder with a sexy little smile, and her lip between her teeth. She cocked her head toward the door and started walking again. _Well alright then._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: ****Thank you again for the reviews and notifications! I'm really enjoying writing this one. I especially want to thank****xmonalisa for nudging me to write this when I wasn't going to, and for listening to me bounce ideas.**

**M - for language and smut – no longer in future chapters. Right now! This chapter is almost entirely smut, so don't read if you're too young or offended by such things.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

By the time Puck left the club, Rachel was bending over with her head inside a cab speaking to the driver. Her dress was riding a little higher since she was bent forward, and damn her ass was just right there! She started to climb in, looking back at him as she went. He followed her in and she scooched across the back seat to the far side. For a minute she looked shy, nervous maybe, which he was not expecting at all. Puck did _not_ want her changing her mind, so he slid close to her and brushes her cheek with his hand. He felt like he should say something sweet and reassuring, but the best he could come up with was, "Fuck, you're sexy!"

Her stomach fluttered as the reality of what she was doing settled in, but she wasn't really questioning it. She was just nervous and excited. She studied his face and reached out to run her thumb along his jaw. He looked like he hadn't shaved in a few days and the scruff was driving her mad. Her mind wandered entirely against her will to the places she might have whisker burns tomorrow, which made her face flush bright pink.

He leaned closer, brushed his lips over hers, and asked, "What?"

She put her finger over his lips before leaning in to kiss a wet line up his jaw to his ear where she whispered, "Shhhhh." _No talking. No thinking._

He growled a little when she nipped his earlobe and slid one hand around her back. With the other one he finally grabbed that little round ass. He pulled her out of her seat, so she was half on top of him, and then found her mouth again. Their tongues were sliding together almost immediately, and she just quit thinking entirely. She was positioned awkwardly, so she slid away a bit and shifted so she was sitting beside him again, but their mouths never lost contact. Her right hand was on his bicep and the left began to travel down from his neck to explore his chest and abs, finally settling on his thigh. Her thumb brushed back and forth over his jeans where his hip met his thigh and it was driving him insane.

Well, two can play at that game, he thought, so he left her mouth to kiss down the exposed skin of her neck and shoulder. _Fuck yes to the strapless dress_. At the same time he moved his hand around from behind her and began to knead her thigh in a slow circular motion. His hand slid further up with each pass and started to inch her skirt up bit by bit. He was very aware that they were in the back of a cab, and she would likely stop him at any moment, but he really wanted to see how far she'd let him take this.

His hands felt so incredible on her, and she was already so ready. It had been a long time, and his mouth was doing things that _almost_ made her forget where they were. When his fingers slid under her skirt, so close to where she wanted them, she let out this little noise somewhere between a hum and a moan, and allowed her hand to ghost over his jeans until she felt him hard against her palm.

He sucked in a sharp breath and bit down on her shoulder a little when he felt her hand on him. His reaction sent a wave of desire through her, and she continued to rub him through his jeans, increasing the pressure. _Damn it!_ He didn't want her to stop, but he kinda needed her to stop.

Partly to distract her from her movements, and partly cause he wanted to see if she'd let him, he slid both hands up her hips, under her skirt, and toyed with the edges of her panties. To his surprise she lifted her hips and her breathing became fast and shallow. _Hell yes! _He tugged her panties down as far as her knees where she worked her legs out of them, leaving them on the floor along with her shoes. She realized it was insane, but when Rachel decided to do something, she just didn't do it half way. Also, with his hand sliding back up her thigh, it didn't seem _that_ crazy.

When the cab suddenly came to a stop, and the lights of the hotel illuminated the interior, Rachel jumped back, startled. She quickly shoved some money at the cab driver without meeting his eyes, retrieved her shoes, and exited the cab as quickly as possible. Puck grabbed the panties from the floor, shoved them in his pocket, and followed her out.

Rachel wasn't drunk, but she was certainly a little buzzed. Maybe that helped the whole thing to seem funny instead of mortifying. Whatever the reason, as she grabbed Puck's arm and rushed into the lobby, she couldn't stifle the laughter that was bubbling up inside of her. She had never been a rule breaker. Never tried to sneak out of the house. Never skipped class. Never disobeyed traffic laws. Now she was stumbling through the hotel in her bare feet, wearing absolutely _nothing _under her dress, fighting to suppress her giggles. This incredible, sexy stranger was grinning at her and kissing her shoulder. She felt liberated. It was like this moment made up for all the things she'd ever wanted to do, but hadn't because she was too responsible or too afraid.

Puck behaved himself, for the most part, as they made their way to her hotel room, but the cab ride had left him more than ready, and his self-restraint was wearing thin. As she was fishing for her room key, he swept the hair away from the back of her neck and began kissing way his from her left shoulder across to her right. His other hand was skimming up the back of her dress, and as she slid her card into the lock, he slid her zipper down. She pressed her forearm against her chest to keep the dress from falling off, and spun around in the doorway to glare at him. There was a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth, so Puck ignored her mock indignation, threaded both hands through her hair, and kissed her hard.

He backed her into the room so he could let the door close, and she dropped her shoes and purse, sliding her free hand under his shirt. She wanted to feel every firm groove and plane of his torso. He released her long enough to tug his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor, but immediately reached for her again. As she blindly backed further into the room, she tripped over her discarded shoe and stumbled into the open closet area to the left of the door. She grabbed at the hanging clothes, pulling them off their hangers until her back was against the wall and she was stable again. She reached for his beautiful bare shoulders, pulling him toward her and allowed her dress to fall to the floor. He pressed her into the wall, kissing her again. His hands rushed over her body, down her sides, along her hip bones, and almost came together at the juncture of her thighs, before smoothing back up her abdomen to cup both her breasts. When he began to flick his thumbs over her nipples, she moaned and reached for his belt. If she had to wait much longer, she was pretty sure she'd explode.

He groaned as she pulled his zipper down. His jeans had become uncomfortably tight, and he was ready to be out of them, but he had other plans first. He grabbed her hands, before she could distract him, and held them to her sides. His mouth began a tortuously slow journey down her body, stopping to attend to her breasts, and then making a trail with his tongue to swirl around her bellybutton. By the time he reached the crease where her hip met her thigh her breathing was erratic. He released her hands and lifted one of her legs over his elbow so he could continue his path. He licked and nipped at the inside of her thigh until she whimpered and she was trembling slightly, then he moved her leg up to his shoulder, spread her open with his thumb and finger, and licked her firmly from bottom to top a couple of times before focusing on her clit.

Rachel pressed one hand against the wall and gripped the clothes rod with the other, afraid her legs would give out. She was whimpering and whining as his tongue flicked back and forth over her. "Oh God . . . ahh . . . ahh . . . so good . . . so . . ." He grinned against her, pleased that he made her break her self-imposed ban on talking. It had been so long, and he was so very good at this, Rachel knew it wasn't going to take much more. He pressed his tongue against her in hard flat strokes, two, maybe three times, and then she stiffened above him briefly before collapsing beneath a delicious wave of violent tremors and nonsensical high pitched sounds. He lowered her leg and she continued to tremble as she started to slide down the wall.

He grabbed her around the waist before she slid to the floor, and lifted her over his shoulder as he stood. She gave a breathless squeak, as he spun around and crossed the room. He deposited her unceremoniously on the bed where she lay limply, smiling.

"Mmmmmmmmm, thank you," she murmured. As she watched him shed the rest of his clothes, she had yet to regain any desire to move. Seeing him spectacular and bare before her did nothing to help her come down from her high, but watching his sculpted form climb toward her somehow restored her mobility. She leaned up on her elbows to meet his mouth as he climbed between her legs.

They kissed heatedly for a minute, then he rocked back on his heels, ripped the wrapper off the condom he had grabbed from his jeans, and quickly smoothed it on. He climbed back between her parted knees, kissing and touching, rocking his hips against her. He reached down to position himself at her entrance and pushed in a little bit. She gripped his back and wrapped her legs around him, arching to taking him in further. This caused them both to moan. He began thrusting forcefully into her, keeping a slow steady rhythm.

"Baby, you feel so fuckin' good," he panted in her ear, "so tight. Fuck!" As he pistoned in and out of her, he licked and nipped at her neck. Her tight little body and her sexy little noises were making him insane. He was calling on all of his restraint, wanting to get her off a second time before he let go.

She ran her hands up and down his back feeling the muscles flex and move. He was even sexier than she had imagined and the feeling of him moving inside her was the most perfect sensation she had ever experienced. He picked up the pace of his thrusts and Rachel felt the tension coiling inside her again. When he heard her breath turn ragged in his ear, he knew she was close. He reached between them and began circling her clit with his index finger. "Yes . . . like that . . . ung . . . d-don't stop."

His movements were becoming frantic and irregular, and he needed her to get there soon. "Baby, let go . . . wanna . . . uh . . . feel you come. . . just –" His words dissolved into grunts, but fortunately they were enough to push her over the edge with him. She clenched around him, and clutched at his back even harder as they rode out their orgasms. When they were both spent and struggling together for breath, he rolled off of her to dispose of the condom.

"That was fucking incredible."

"Amazing," Rachel panted, struggling to catch her breath. "So much better than I expected."

That brought a hearty laugh from Puck. He rolled back toward her, trapping her under his arm. "I'm not sure if that was a compliment."

Rachel stammered, "No, no, I just meant I haven't really . . . I mean, I've never . . . I mean, my boyfriend in high school, he usually didn't make it past the opening number, so to speak, and then the one in college . . . it was sweet, and lovely, but not . . ." Rachel blew out a breath and started again. "Contrary to the impression I may have given in the club, I've never done this before, so I'm not sure what I was expecting, but yes, it was a compliment."

"A couple of orgasms, and she learns to talk." Rachel tried turn away, embarrassed, but he held her still. "So you mean you've never dragged a stranger out of a bar without saying two words to him until you were naked and is tongue was –"

"Stop, stop, stop! Yes that's what I mean! I've never had a one night stand, OK? Or any kind of casual sex actually."

"Seriously? Well, welcome to the neighborhood, it's not a bad place." He grinned at her and thought about her rambling explanation. The way her cheeks got even pinker and her eyes got big when she was embarrassed, it was kinda cute. He decided to tease her a little more. "So speedy and sweetie and that's it?"

"Well, um, and you. Yes, that's it. I don't know why I'm even telling you all this. If I was ever going to see you again, I'd me horrified at my inability to shut up right now."

He shifted further on top of her and pulled her hands above her head, pinning them there with one of his hands. He ran the fingers of his other hand down the back of her arm and along her ribs and watched her with a smirk. "So I guess that makes me the best you've ever had then. Go ahead, you can admit it." He winked, continuing to graze her side with his fingertips.

Rachel giggled and squirmed beneath him. "Fine, yes, you're the best. Is that what you want to hear? But I'm not sure your competition was all that _stiff_." Rachel's own joke sent her into a fit of laughter.

Puck groaned and released her flopping down next to her. "That was terrible."

Her laughter tapered off and they were quiet for a moment. He played absently with her hair and she smiled at nothing in particular, then her stomach growled loudly.

Puck looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "Hungry?"

"I was too nervous to eat dinner," she admitted. "Maybe there's a vending machine down the hall."

Puck got up and started gathering his clothes. "I'll go check."

"Thanks."

She watched him dress, trying to memorize every glorious inch of him. She knew he probably wasn't coming back, but it seemed like an easy pretense to avoid an uncomfortable goodbye. Once he was gone, Rachel got some shorts and a tank top from her suitcase and then headed to the bathroom to wash up. She got dressed, pulled her hair into a messy bun, and washed the stars and glitter from her face. Just as she was slipping into her tennis shoes to go look for a vending machine herself, she heard the lock trip. He was back. Well, that was unexpected.

"The vending machine's out of order, but I have a better idea. Come on."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I just want to kiss all of you who reviewed and set up alerts! I'm so glad you are enjoying this one, because I am too.**** Another short chapter. Real life is crazy, but I'll get this story written one little bit at a time.**

**M - but you should know that by now.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

Puck had been all the way to the front door of the hotel before he started losing the argument with himself, (or winning, depending on your perspective). The girl he had just left naked in bed was not what he had expected. The sex was fan-fucking-tastic, but that wasn't really a surprise. He had a gift for predicting that sort of thing. Sort of a sexual soothsayer. He just hadn't expected her to be so fun and open and quirky. Once she started talking it was like there was no filter between her mouth and her brain. It was oddly cute. She might be fun to hang out with.

But this was the part of the evening where he made his exit. Awesome sex, check. Drama-free escape, check. So why was he even considering going back? He didn't _know_why he wanted to go back, which made him feel . . . he didn't actually have a label for the way it made him feel other than strange. Uncomfortable. So he did what he _was_ comfortable with and headed for the door.

But, honestly, he knew she wasn't expecting anything from him. She made it clear she knew exactly what this was. He was hungry. She was hungry. He was going to get something to eat anyway, so would it really be so bad to take her with him? Sure, he didn't usually do that sort of thing, but she was obviously a tourist. She'd be leaving town. What would it hurt?

He wrestled with that question for a minute. It probably wouldn't _hurt_anything, but he had a very good system. He couldn't think of one reason to start changing it.

Well, maybe one. The vending machine really was out of order. Not that he'd checked. He had to walk right past it on his way out and he noticed.

But how was that his problem? She was a big girl (figuratively speaking). She'd live till morning. Not his fault she didn't eat. No dinner. That was the rule. No dinner.

But was it dinner, really? Grabbing some munchies in the middle of the night didn't have the same connotation as taking someone to _dinner_. Did it?

No it didn't. Totally different. Totally not breaking the rule.

He was close to turning around anyway, but then came the clincher. He realized that with the vending machine broken she might go hungry all night, but she also might venture out alone to find something to eat. He had a mom and a sister. He wouldn't want either of them wandering the streets of a strange city alone at night. _Well fuck!_ And that's how he found himself walking back to her hotel room to _not_ take her to dinner.

He was glad he'd decided to come back when he reached her hallway and noticed her key card lying on the floor just outside her door. Any creep could have picked it up, and he had to admit it was _a little bit_ his fault she dropped it there. He let himself in and saw that she was up and dressed. Her hair was back and her face was clean and she looked great. She was wearing these tiny red and white gym shorts that barely covered her ass, and a little white tank top. She looked up at him, surprised. The look on her face, together with the fact that she was about to leave the room, made it clear that she hadn't expected him to come back. It kind of bothered him. Sure, he wasn't planning to, but why did she just assume? Apparently he needed to add smart to her list of attributes, or obviously a dick to his.

"The vending machine's out of order, but I have a better idea. Come on." He tugged her arm to urge her toward the door.

"What are you doing? Come on where? I'm not dressed to go anywhere further than the hallway!" She stomped her foot and gave him an exasperated look.

He wanted to kick his own ass for thinking she was cute. Again. He looked her up and down and raised an eyebrow. "You look fine. You look hot. Let's go eat."

"I'm in shorts, and while it's not freezing, it's not exactly summer out there. Not to mention the fact that I look like I just fell out of bed, or the left gym at best."

"Whatever. You'll be fine." Puck gestured toward the dress, still on closet floor. "Not like that dress was any warmer."

He spotted a feathery Mardi Gras crown sitting on the dresser, the sparkly kind that were all over the place this time of year. He picked it up and put it on her head.

"There. Not fit for the gym OR bed. Well maybe bed." He winked and tossed her the jacket he found draped on the back of the chair. "Now come on."

OO

Rachel found the whole thing a little surreal. She was sipping coffee in the back corner of a little greasy spoon diner with a self proclaimed womanizer . . . and she was actually enjoying his company. When he had returned to her room she wasn't at all sure about going to eat with him. Yes, she had enjoyed their time together, but she was pretty sure that would _not_ extend beyond the bedroom. It was kind of nice to be wrong this one time. He was unbelievably crass, but also surprisingly thoughtful. He teased her about being high maintenance, but hadn't been irritated or impatient when she asked the waitress a dozen questions before finding a vegan friendly meal to order. He even offered a suggestion.

They had finished eating, and were flicking a wadded up straw wrapper back and forth, as he tried to teach her some kind of diner hockey. She threw the paper at his head and giggled at him when he clutched his eye and acted as if she's blinded him.

He watched her smiling and laughing across from him, and the words came out before he could stop them. "You look really good like that."

Rachel blushed and looked up at him. "Like what?"

"Nothing, never mind. I just meant you're, you know, hot." He smirked at her and tried to turn the compliment into a come on.

"Don't say never mind. Like what? I'd really like to know."

Puck shifted awkwardly in his seat. What was it about this girl that put him off his game? "Alright, fine. You're all happy and casual, without the fancy dress and the glitter and everything. I mean you looked great before too, just . . . I like it. You look nice."

She had a feeling he didn't offer many sincere compliments and it made her feel warm to receive one. "Thank you. You too. I mean you look good too. Obviously you look the same." She glanced up at him and smiled. "Actually, you're the one who's glittery now." She reached across the table and brushed her hand over his cheek.

"Hmm, how did that get there?" He winked and brushed at his face a few times. "Is it gone?"

"Good enough." She smiled and picked up her warm mug with both hands. There was a lull in the conversation, but it wasn't uncomfortable. They both sipped their coffee and watched the comings and goings around them.

Puck finally broke the silence. "So, hey, this might be a little overdue, but - Hi, I'm Noah Puckerman. Everyone calls me Puck."

Rachel put down her coffee and shook his extended hand. "Well, I guess I'm not everyone, because I prefer Noah."

He rolled his eyes. "Your prerogative, I guess. Nobody but my Ma and my sister call me that, but whatever." Puck was still shaking her hand so he lowered their joined hands to the table. "And?"

"And what?"

"Don't you have a name?"

Rachel giggled and nodded.

"Aren't you going to tell me?"

She smiled coyly and looked at him through her lashes. "I believe I'd rather remain a mystery."

He gawked at her in disbelief for a moment before answering. "Seriously? You won't tell me your name? Fine, I'll just have to name you then. Hmmmm. I think I'll call you 'Mardi Gras Princess' since you decided to wear a tiara to a diner n' all"

"Hey! You put this thing on me!"

"You left it on." Puck shrugged and continued. "So Princess, what do you do? I mean other than dragging innocent young men out of bars to have your way with them."

Rachel laughed so hard she almost choked. "Let me get this straight. I'm a temptress and _you_ are a boy scout."

He raised his fingers and put on his most sincere expression. "Scout's honor."

She lowered her head, and her shoulders started to shake a little. He thought she was laughing again until she pulled her hand away from his and started swiping at her eyes. _Shit! What the hell just happened? _He didn't deal well with crying women, and this was even worse because he had no idea why she was crying.

"Um . . . shit! Are you OK? You know I was teasing right?" He reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

She raised her teary face to him and furiously blinked away the moisture pooling in her eyes. "I'm fine, really, it's -" Her chin trembled slightly before her pained expression turned to pure amusement. Her eyes, still wet with tears, were dancing with laughter. "You should see your face right now." She couldn't hold her giggles in any longer. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. That was mean."

Puck snatched his hand back, crossed his arms, and scowled at her. "What the hell?"

"Now don't pout. It's not as if you haven't teased me, and you asked me what I do. _That_ is what I do. I'm a performer." She bowed in her seat. "Music and Drama double major at J-just some college. I didn't think I should burst into song in the middle of a diner, so I opted for drama."

"You shoulda just sang," he grumbled. He sat in silent irritation for a minute, but the mention of music had piqued his interest. "So you sing? You any good?"

"I know I'm supposed to be modest, but I've never been very good at that, so I won't bother. Yes, I am good. I'm actually quite talented. I'm going to be a star."

"Well, as long as you have a solid plan," he teased.

"It doesn't matter if you believe me. I am destined for Broadway. I've known it my whole life and it _will_ happen," Rachel snapped at him.

He threw his hands up in surrender. "Hey, whoa. I didn't mean anything by it. I mean how should I know if you're good or not? Besides, you probably need that kind of confidence to make it."

She gave him a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Just a little defensive I guess."

"Did I strike a nerve there?"

She blew out a breath and fiddled with her fingers before answering. "My ex was always telling me one of my majors should be 'practical'. He said a lot of very talented people never make it, and I shouldn't put all my eggs in one basket. He called it having a backup plan, but I think he really meant a realistic plan for when I was done chasing my silly dreams. But that's who I am. I have big dreams, and he wasn't a dreamer at all." She physically shook it off before looking up at him. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about him. What do _you_ do Noah?"

He grabbed the check and stood up. "You up for a little walk?"

She blinked at him in confusion. "Sure, I guess."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you again for reading & reviewing.**

**M - stands for More smut.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or the song mentioned. If you don't know it you should definitely go to youtube and check it out.**

Once they were outside, Puck told her he went to that diner all the time, and that his place was only a few blocks away. He and his friend Sam lived with Sam's Grandma. Without further explanation he tugged her down the sidewalk. The temperature had dropped a few degrees, and the wind had picked up. He felt a little bad for talking her out of changing, so he put his arm around her and rubbed his hand up and down her sleeve to try keep her warm. They didn't have far to go. A block or two from the diner the businesses changed to houses, and the streets were mostly empty. After a few more blocks, Puck stopped in front of a small, nicely kept, old house. He pulled the keys from his pocket, and unlocked a black pick-up truck parked on the street.

"You can wait in here. The neighborhood's not bad, but I still wouldn't want you just standing out here."

Rachel furrowed her brow . "Where are you going?"

"I'll be right back. I just need to go inside and get something."

"And I have to stay out here?" Rachel crossed her arms and scowled at him.

"I'm pretty good at getting in and out without making noise or turning on the lights, and I don't wanna wake Sam or Gramma Evans." It was a convenient truth, since there was no way he was taking her inside. He was already dangerously close to breaking several rules. _No going to your place. _He figured the truck outside his place was as far as he cared to push that one.

"Oh. OK." Rachel accepted this explanation, and went to climb into the truck, which sat ridiculously high off the ground. He laughed at her awkward efforts to find a place to put her foot, or something to hold on to, before grabbing her butt with both hands to boost her up. She jumped in surprise and flopped, ungracefully in the front seat of the truck. He grinned as she righted herself with a huff.

"You could have warned me!"

"Was more fun that way. Be back in a minute."

She watched him stride quickly toward the house, and wondered why he had brought her here, and what he was going to get. She looked up and down the quiet street and chuckled at the strange turn her evening had taken. Although she was sure it was not his intention, the whole thing felt rather date like, and a good date at that. Of course she remembered that none of it was real, but it was fun to pretend for a while.

It wasn't long before he emerged from the house again, carrying a guitar. Her heart did a little flip at that. He was a musician? Pretend date just got better. He slid the guitar behind the seat and climbed behind the wheel.

"Too many people asleep around here, but I know a place we can go. It's not far."

As they started down the road, questions came tumbling out of her mouth. He kept surprising her, and she kinda liked it. "Where are we going? Why did you get a guitar? I assume you play. Of course you play, why else would you have it. Are you any good?"

He smiled and kept his eyes on the road. "Patience. We'll be there in a minute." He pulled on to a side street next to a small Baptist church, parked the truck, but left it running. "Just gotta open the gate." He climbed out of the cab, walked up to the fence surrounding the back half of the church, and quickly hoisted himself up. Rachel watched the effortless way he swung his legs over. It didn't look like the first time he'd scaled a fence, and she had to wonder why this was necessary. A few seconds later the gate was open and he hurried back to the truck to pull it into the lot. He climbed out one last time to close the gate before returning to the truck. She was growing more nervous by the second.

"Um, are we supposed to be here? Aren't we trespassing or something? Could we get arrested?"

He looked at her, amused. "You ask a shitload of questions."

"Well I'm not normally a go-with-the-flow kind of person anyway, and then you had to climb a fence to get us in here. I don't think I'm out of line to say it seems a little shady."

"S'fine. Not like we're gonna tear shit up." She still didn't look convinced, so he rolled his eyes and offered a better explanation. "I know the Pastor and the maintenance guy. The won't care. I promise."

Rachel gave him a doubtful look. "Really, how? Are you saying you're a member of this church?"

Puck threw his head back and laughed. "No, no, no. Not me. Gramma Evans. She's been going here forever. She doesn't charge me or Sam any rent while we're in school, and we help with up-keep the house and stuff. She's asked us to do projects for the church a couple of times, so I know some of the staff."

Rachel considered this information for a moment. "That makes more sense. No offense, but I didn't take you for a faithful church goer."

"None taken. I actually do go sometimes, when Ma visits. Otherwise, not so much. Even then, we don't go here. Rabbi Greenburg would not approve," he teased with a wink.

Rachel's eyes widened with surprise. "You're Jewish? Me too!"

"Kinda figured." He shrugged.

She flushed slightly and her hand automatically went to her nose. "Oh, yeah. I guess it's kind of obvious."

He wrapped his hand around hers and tugged it down to the seat between them. "Hey, don't. I didn't mean it as a bad thing. You're beautiful."

He held her hand there until Rachel looked up at him and smiled tentatively. "It's sweet of you to say so, and I'm perfectly happy with who I am, but-"

"No buts," He said firmly. He held her gaze for a minute, but it started to feel too . . . too something, and he looked away. "Whatever, you are."

She scooted toward him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. He ruffled her hair, further messing up her already sloppy bun, and earning himself an unconvincing scowl. Just like that, the intense moment dissolved into the playful relaxed rhythm he was really getting used to.

They ended up sitting on the tailgate of his truck. Rachel wrapped her legs in the blanket he offered and quietly listened as he sat next to her playing his guitar. She studied his hands and his profile. His eyes were closed and he looked more relaxed than she remembered seeing him. There was no thought or effort as he played. He was simply feeling the music, and his fingers danced over the guitar like it was an extension of himself. It was mesmerizing. He was a skillful musician, but that wasn't what drew her in. It was his connection with the music. It was something you either felt or you didn't. It was something you could never learn or practice. It was a piece of him she understood completely.

He began to sing quietly. She had to sit very still and listen closely to make out the lyrics. They carried honesty and uncertainty in them, and made her heart ache. When his words faded out, and he was simply playing again, she moved closer to his side. As she curled her legs underneath her, and rested her head on his shoulder, he stopped playing and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Don't stop. That was beautiful. I don't think I've ever heard it."

He cleared his throat and shifted a little. "I'm sure you haven't . . . It's mine." He wasn't looking at her, and he seemed nervous. She felt like he was trusting her with something precious.

"It was amazing. You're very talented." She moved her hand to the back of his neck and raked her fingers across the short hairs there.

He finally looked at her for a moment and smiled. It was a soft genuine smile. Not a smirk or a leer. She liked it more than she should. He started unconsciously strumming again and looked off in the distance. "It's no big deal. I just mess around with it. Been doing it forever. . . You really think it's good?" He hated to sound so uncertain, but it _was_ a big deal, and he _didn't_ just mess around with it. Somehow her approval meant something to him. She wasn't like the fangirls he met when he played with a cover band. When she said it was good it made him believe it a little bit too, which he realized was silly, but there it was.

"I really do. It was beautiful, but more than that, it was real. You can always feel the truth in a great song. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah I do. Thanks. I'm really glad you liked it." He slid off the tailgate to return his guitar to its case then stretched out in the truck bed with his hands behind his head. "Anyway, that's what I do, at least part of it. After your little performance in the diner, I figured one demonstration deserved another." He smiled up at her, then looked into the clear night sky. She spread out the blanket so she could lay down and watch the stars with him.

"So you're a musician? You said you're in school, so are you studying music?"

"I am. Now I don't want you to go off on me, but I'm also studying physical therapy. One of those backup plans you hate so much."

She bumped him with her shoulder as best she could from her position. "Hey, I never said I hate backup plans." She was quiet for a minute then continued wistfully. "I just don't think I'd feel alive if I did anything else. Performing is like the air in my lungs. It's like the blood in my veins. And although I'm sure I wouldn't literally die without it, I _need_ it. It's who I am."

He chuckled and bumped her shoulder the way she had bumped his. "Well clearly you have the drama part covered." He found her hand with his, and started running his thumb back and forth over her knuckles. "I get it. No, I really do, but for me it's not really about the performing. I enjoy it, but really it's just the music I need. I've played with some cover bands, and done some work as a session musician, but what I'd really love is to be a songwriter." Sam and his sister were the only people who even knew about his songwriting, and he hadn't admitted to anyone how badly he wanted to pursue it professionally. Somehow he knew she'd get it.

"You should go for it. I mean I've only heard the one song, but if that one is any indication . . . it was really beautiful."

He didn't respond, and they just watched the sky in silence for a while. He eventually got up and grabbed his guitar again. "C'mon. I still haven't heard you sing. Sing something with me. What's in your wheelhouse."

Rachel sat up and smiled at him. "I doubt you know anything in my wheelhouse," she answered, making quotes with her fingers. "Show tunes. Barbara. That kind of thing."

"Hey, I know all kinds of music, besides, my mom loves that shit." He was just randomly strumming when he turned to her with a grin. "I've got it."

As he picked out the melody he watched her face for recognition until a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "I know you know it. Sing."

It was the perfect choice. She held his gaze, waiting for her entrance, then she started in, soft and clear.

"You don't bring me flowers  
You don't sing me love songs."

He never looked away, and his voice picked up just as hers ended.

"You hardly talk to me anymore  
When I come through the door  
At the end of the day."

As they traded the melody back and forth they seemed to know exactly when to allow the music to swell, and when to pull back. They were incredible together. In that moment he believed she would be a star. There was something magical about her voice that just connected with the music and with him. When they reached final verse, and their voices blended seamlessly, Rachel could feel her eyes getting a little damp.

"Well you'd think I could learn  
how to tell you 'goodbye'  
You don't say you need me  
You don't sing me love songs  
You don't bring me flowers anymore..."

She could blame it on the song being so very moving. After all, she _was_ a very emotional performer, but it was more than that. The song was perfect, not just for their voices, but also for the moment. It was bittersweet, and felt like the end of something amazing, or maybe sadness for something that never was.

When it was over the silence hung in the air, and they both knew it was time to go. He stroked his hand across her cheek and kissed her softly, then got up to put his guitar away. She folded the blanket in silence, and they both returned to the cab of the truck. She managed to climb in unassisted, and they didn't talk much on the ride back to the hotel. He asked if she was heading out tomorrow. She confirmed that she was. For once, she didn't really know what else to say. When he pulled up to the front door she climbed out and gave him a little wave. As she walked away she resisted the urge to look back.

oo

When she got to her room Rachel removed her shoes and jacket. She hadn't even made it to the bed before there was a knock on her door. She turned back, peered through the peephole, and was surprised to see Puck there again. She quickly opened the door and smiled at him.

"What are _you_ doing back here? Did you forg-"

Her words trailed off as he moved to her, cradling the side of her face with one hand and her upper arm with the other. This time he was the one whispering "shhhhh" as he bent to brush his lips over hers. He pulled back slightly and held her gaze until the question in her face evaporated. Her eyes drifted closed as leaned subtly into him, and she inhaled slow and deep, breathing him in.

After he had watched her disappear into the hotel he just couldn't drive away. She was leaving, and he knew he would never see her again after tonight. That was fine. He didn't do repeats anyway. But it was still tonight, and he wasn't ready for never to start yet. Now that he had spent some time with her, he felt like there were things he needed say to her. He believed her when she said she'd never done this before, and he was glad she'd chosen him. He felt like it meant something. That didn't really make sense, even to him, and he knew he'd never find the right words, so he decided to tell her the only way he could.

His mouth skimmed softly down her jaw and the column of her throat, and she let her head fall back to give him better access. Her pulse was already racing at his touch. His mouth continued ghosting across her skin, traveling along her collarbone. At the same time his index finger moved in lazy circles from from her shoulder to her elbow, gently dragging the strap of her tank top, and leaving goosebumps in its wake. His lips followed the same path, and even though he was barley touching her, she felt every point of contact. Every breath against her skin. When his hand reached hers, he lifted it and kissed her palm before walking her to the bed. He sat down and reached for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head, tossing it to the floor. She really was beautiful with little strands of escaped hair framing her face, and her breasts bare and perfect, and her dark eyes swimming with desire.

The way he was looking at her made her feel sexy and beautiful and desirable. She bent down to kiss him deep and leisurely, sliding her hands under his shirt at his sides. His skin was warm and firm under her hands. She wanted to drink him in with all her senses. He slid his hands down from her arms to cup her breasts, circling his palms against her, and she sucked in a breath, breaking the kiss. As she pulled his shirt up, and he raised his hands over his head to allow her to remove it. She savored his eyes on her as she took a step back and slid her shorts and panties to the floor. He just looked at her for a minute before standing to remove the rest of his clothes. It all felt so different. _So real_. This time he felt like he was really seeing her. Maybe because he'd let her see him in ways he wasn't accustomed to.

She stepped forward wrapping her arm around him and placing open mouth kisses across his chest and neck. All she could feel was skin against skin, and him hard against her stomach, and it made her head spin. He backed up to the bed and climbed on pulling her with him so they were kneeling and facing one another. He pulled her against him, hands splayed across her back, and kissed her firmly. Their hands roamed and touched and teased, as they alternated between slow kisses and simply resting their foreheads together. Neither of them was in a hurry. When his fingers found their way to her center he groaned at how wet she was. She breathily gasped out "Noah," and began to rock her hips against his hand. He'd never heard his given name quite that way, and it sent a wave of desire through him straight to his groin. He needed to be inside her. The way she was moving and the sounds she was making made it clear she needed it too. He rocked back on his heels and began to roll on a condom. Rachel wondered where it had come from, and for just a moment she reminded herself that what she was feeling _wasn't real_. This was nothing out of the ordinary for him. He was the kind of guy who could produce a condom out of thin air like some kind of bedroom David Blaine. The thought disappeared as quickly as it had appeared when he pulled her forward to straddle his thighs. He positioned himself and pushed all the way in one motion. She cried out and threw her head back. They really were incredible together in so many ways.

As they began rocking against one another, he watched the rise and fall of her chest and listened to her breath coming out in little pants. Her lips were parted and her face was flushed. In that moment he knew he didn't care about any rules. He was going to see her again. Sam was right. This was something he wanted to get mixed up in. She was whimpering a little, and he could see she was at that place where she was so close, but just couldn't quite make it over the edge. He was holding himself back, wanting it to last just a little longer, wanting to watch her. Finally, when she said his name again, this time as a desperate whine, he gripped her hips and began thrusting forcefully over and over. He continued to hold back as he watched her come apart in front of him. Amazing. When he couldn't wait any longer he buried his face in the crook of her neck and let go inside of her. He trembled against her and held her tight. For a few minutes they were just clinging to one another, their bodies sweaty and humming with satisfaction, then he lowered her onto the bed, pulled back the covers, and patted the pillow. He tossed the condom and climbed in next to her. For the first time in years, he was staying till morning.

oo

Santana was jolted awake by the ringing of her cell phone, coupled with insistent knocking on her hotel room door. She glanced at the phone and saw that it's Rachel.

"It's early B. The fuck do you want?"

"Open your door quick! I'm in the hall."

Santana dragged out of bed stumbled toward the door.

"Hurry!"

"Alright, alright, where's the fire?"

She pulled the door open only to be shoved into the room by a very frantic Rachel dragging a suitcase.

"There is a very sexy, very very naked man in my bed!"

Santana blinked a couple of times. "Congratulations! And you're here because?"

"He's not supposed to be there!" Rachel started to pace. "No staying till morning. He clearly said _no staying till morning_**.** I was supposed to wake up alone and, and, and he's still here! There was NOT supposed to be an awkward goodbye. No brush off. Why is he still here?"

Santana was still half asleep, and still wasn't sure what all the drama was about. "Whoa whoa whoa, slow down. He told you he was leaving? But he stayed?"

"More or less. I mean no, not exactly, but when he was talking to his friend at the club I heard him say "no staying till morning" along with a bunch of other ridiculous rules that made him the perfect candidate for the kind of scandalous indulgence you persuaded me to attempt. _But he's not gone!_"

"Attempt? What do you mean attempt? Didn't you - "

"Yes of course. I told you he's naked!" Rachel snapped.

Santana's face broke out in a huge grin. "I wasn't sure if you had it in ya, B. So how was it?"

Rachel fought a small smile of her own and let out a huff. "It was amazing, OK. Happy?"

"Like 'wow this cake is good' amazing or like 'my bones have turned to spaghetti and I don't remember my name' amazing?"

Rachel blushed furiously.

"That good huh? See, you should listen to me more often. So remind me what the problem is."

A harsh glare was her only response.

"Right, right. He's still there. So is it really that horrible? Did he embarrass you? Was he mean? Oh, and where did you tell him you were going?"

Rachel picked at her fingernail and avoided Santana's gaze. "He's still asleep, or at least he was a minute ago when I left."

Santana's smile gave way to laughter. "I see. So you snuck out without saying goodbye. Well that wasn't very mannerly of you Rachel Berry."

"No," Rachel pouted, "that would be very rude. I left a post-it on his chest, then set the alarm for 10:00. Now we need to get out of here so I don't bump into him in the lobby or something!"

"Sure, because that would bring the sky crashing down on all of us. I'm not even packed, and I need a shower, and I wanna go get a doughnut downstairs, so chill the fuck out."

"Santana! I _licked_ you!" Rachel hissed. "And, and, and I let him take my panties off in the back of a cab! _In the back of a cab!_"

"Go Rachel!" Santana cheered, then she sighed and put her hand on Rachel's shoulder. "Seriously, you're acting a little crazy right now, even for you. Who cares what some guy you don't even know thinks?"

"Well, I don't really want _anyone_ to think I'm a . . . I mean _what_ was I thinking?" Rachel crossed the room to the window, searching for a way to explain. "But really, that's only part of it . . . Last night, it was _more_ than amazing, and it was _more_ than sex. We went to a little diner, and we talked, and he played the guitar, and we sang, and it was perfect. And then the second time . . ." She turned from the window to look earnestly at her friend. "The whole night was perfect. It was like the sweetest kind of dream, and I just want to remember it that way. I don't want to ruin it, so just pack. Please? For me?"

"You can't just go get laid like a normal person, can you? It has to be like some epic fucking movie montage." Rachel was still giving her that pleading look, so she relented. "Fine. But I expect full details."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. I'm still pretty new to writing and it encourages me a lot. Sorry about the long wait for this update. I'm finding the second half of this story much harder than the first.**** I don't own anything other than my own mistakes.**

An unfamiliar ringing pecked at the edge of Puck's consciousness and for a moment he tried to block it out. He was warm and comfortable. As the ringing persisted he slowly became aware that other things were unfamiliar. This didn't feel like his bed. It didn't smell like his bed. It smelled like vanilla and blackberries, and then it all came back to him in a rush of big eyes, and smooth skin, and music, and laughter.

He stayed. He stayed on purpose. Surprisingly, he didn't have the urge to slip out the door as quickly and quietly as possible. He thought he'd rather continue getting to know the amazing girl whose image was flashing across his mind. Sure, he was hoping to start with a repeat of last night, but after that, who the fuck knows? He just kinda wanted to see what might happen. He inhaled deeply and stretched as the slightest smile crept onto his face, then he opened his eyes.

The smile gave way to a confused scowl as he surveyed his surroundings. He wasn't surprised he was alone in the bed, but he figured she was probably in the bathroom or something. It didn't take long for him to realize that was not the case. The room was empty - not just empty of another occupant - it was _empty. _No jacket on the chair. No products on the counter. No suitcase in the corner. Not one trace of the girl he had fallen asleep with. _Empty. Shit. _Confusion quickly turned to anger and he slammed his fists down the bed with a loud "Fuck!" _She just fucking took off! _As he sat up something bright yellow caught his eye as it fluttered down toward to the sheet that was bunched around his waist. A post-it. A bright yellow, star shaped, mother fucking, post-it. He snatched it up crushing it in his fist and flung it toward the mirror across the room. It pissed him off to think of her sneaking quietly around the room, gathering all her stuff. _Why bother with a god damned note if she couldn't bother to say good-bye?_

As he sat on the edge of the bed with his fists clenched, he knew, logically, that he really had no room to be angry here. He'd slipped out on sleeping chicks more times that he cared to think about. He'd always figured that a girl who fucks some guy she barely knows and then expects something from him gets what she gets. Maybe that's harsh but he always made sure they had a good time and never promised any of them anything more. Yeah, he knows, she didn't promise him anything either. _Fuck!_ He wasn't even sure if he was angry with her or with himself. He broke his rules one time! One time! And this is what happened! He knew better.

He stomped around the room getting dressed and didn't even care if he was being childish or a hypocrite. The whole thing just confirmed what he already knew. People suck. When he'd gathered his few belongings he glanced around the room one last time to be sure he had everything. The little yellow paper caught his eye once again and he blew out a long slow breath through his nose before crossing the room to pick it up, smooth it out, and read the small neat letters

Noah,

It was lovely to meet you.

Don't let your back-up plan

become your only plan.

You're too amazing for that.

R

It took a little bit of the sting away. He folded it and stuck it in his wallet, as a reminder or whatever. A reminder of what, he couldn't say. To stick to the rules? To go for what he wants? Whatever. He wanted to keep it. Fuck.

OO

By the time he got home it was after 11 and he was pissed again. She signed her note "R". Why the fuck wouldn't she tell him her name? The more he thought about it the more it bothered him. He let her see some really personal shit and she couldn't even let him know her first god damned name.

"What the hell happened to you? You were supposed to help me haul that furniture down for the Salvation Army truck." Sam looked up from the TV, but realized immediately that Puck looked more irritated than he felt.

"I was up late. Leave me the fuck alone," Puck barked.

"Why are you so bitchy? You accidentally fall asleep and have to have a conversation with a woman this morning? Oh my! Don't take it out on me."

Puck glared as the muscles in his jaw flexed. He told Sam to fuck himself and disappeared into his room.

OO

By Friday he was over it. Okay, maybe not _over _it. Mostly over it. He knew how to get over it anyway. He just needed a really good lay to get his head on straight (and to get her out of it). He'd been telling himself for the last couple of days that there was nothing all that special about Mardi Gras girl. It was his own damn fault. He'd been a stupid ass and broken his own rules. The rules are there for a reason. The whole thing really had nothing to do her; she was just the girl who _happened _to be there the night Sam filled his head with all that crap about relationships or whatever shit he was yammering about. He needed to remember to kick Sam's ass, cause it was his fault too. Clearly had nothing to do with her, though. She was a great lay, no doubt, but she wasn't the only one. Tonight he'd remind himself of that fact. He just needed to find the hottest piece of ass in the club and have mind blowing sex. Problem solved.

He ended up going home with a tall busty blond and making her come over and over just to prove a point. Unfortunately it was the wrong point. He already knew _he _was awesome and it didn't change the fact that he had to force his eyes to stay open as he bent her over the arm of her sofa and pounded into her. Every time he allowed his eyes to slip closed she was replaced by a tiny brunette, with the most amazing ass he'd ever seen, looking at him over her shoulder. He was so fucked!

Later, when he'd worn her completely out and she was passed out across her bed, he started to sneak out quietly and then he found out exactly how fucked he was. He couldn't do it. He wasn't gonna stay. Fuck no! But he couldn't sneak out either. He scrubbed his hands over his face and braced himself before poking the girl in the shoulder repeatedly until she was squinting at him, looking confused.

"Listen, I gotta go. Um, gotta be somewhere in the morning."

It wasn't entirely true. The only place he had to be was his own damn bed. She tried to persuade him to stay and ended up calling an asshole when it became clear he was blowing her off. He wasn't sure it turned out any better that way, but at least it seemed less cowardly.

OO

Nearly two months passed and he wasn't pissed anymore. His game was totally thrown, and he still hadn't figured all that shit out, but he wasn't pissed. The whole _not_ sneaking out thing sucked ass, cause leaving right after or waking a woman up to tell her you're leaving both got him yelled at more often than not. A couple of times he resorted to bar bathroom hook-ups, but that shit got old. Options were limited and it also tended to lower the quality of willing participants. Yes, he went for easy women, but there's easy and then there's just nasty. Within a couple of weeks he stared to wonder if maybe Sam had a point after all. Maybe he had outgrown his rules. He had a good time with Mardi Gras girl, and lets be honest, he broke nearly all of his rules. They had a great time at dinner, yes dinner, he could admit that. They went to his place. No, they didn't go_in_, but he was really splitting hairs there. He definitely went back for a repeat and he'd do it again given the opportunity. No, she wasn't a teenager or a virgin, but those rules are probably pretty solid anyway. And staying till morning didn't go so well, but he's pretty sure that's because she'd never done anything like that and she panicked. That's what he told himself anyway. The point is, maybe he never met anyone awesome because he never gave them a chance.

So he took a few girls to dinner, went to a few movies (action movies, he not a total pussy), and it didn't suck too much. It wasn't great either. Not like Mardi Gras. Not even close. So he was back to the conclusion he's been coming to for weeks and weeks. He was fucked.

OO

Sam was sprawled out on the couch watching a Star Trek marathon when the doorbell rang. He glanced through the front window at car with the pizza hut sign on top and yelled up the stairs, "Puck, you order pizza?"

He yelled again and got no answer, so he dragged himself off the couch to get the door. He told the guy to wait a minute so he could get some money since he had exactly zero cash before running up the stairs to find Puck walking out of the bathroom in a towel.

"I hope you have cash. Pizza guy is waiting."

"Shit, I forgot. My wallet should be on top of the piano."

Sam hurried back down, grabbing the wallet on his way. As he pulled out Puck's cash a few scraps of paper fell to the floor and Sam stepped on them to keep them from flying out the door. He paid the guy, put the pizza on the little table by the door, and scooped up the random papers. A receipt, couple of phone numbers, and a bright yellow post-it. He was reading the star shaped note when Puck walked into the room.

"The fuck are you doing?"

"I was paying for your pizza. Shit fell out of your wallet." Sam leveled him with a curious look. "Why? Is it a big deal or something?" he asked, waving the note slightly.

"No. It's whatever. It's just a note from some chick," Puck answered, forcing a casual tone in hopes that Sam would just drop it. No such luck.

"And it's in your wallet because?" Sam started to sound amused as he carried the pizza, the wallet, and the note to the coffee table and deposited them there.

"Because it is. Don't be such a damn Yenta."

"Some chick huh? What chick?"

"What difference does it make. Brunette. Purple dress. Great legs. Shit, it's not like you know her or anything."

"The girl from Mardi Gras?" Sam watched Puck's face as his eyes widened just for a second. "It_is_, it the girl from Mardi Gras! You've been acting strange for weeks. I thought it was just graduation, but no . . . you're totally hung up on her aren't you? I never thought I'd see the day."

"Fine. Yes. The girl from Mardi Gras. Whatever, dude. Drop it. I'm not hung up on anybody. Even if I was,_which I'm not_, I don't know her name or where she's from, so this entire conversation is pointless."

"Let's pretend I believe you for a second and move past the 'hung up' question because seriously, _how do you not know her name?_"

Puck snatched his wallet and the little yellow paper from the table, glared at Sam, and started to leave the room. He didn't really want the pizza anymore.

"Rachel." Sam called after him as he entered the hallway. "She lives in New York."

Puck spun around and gawked at him. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your little Mardi Gras girlfriend. Her name is Rachel. She lives in New York. Her roommate is Santana and they've known each other since high school." Sam rattled off details as Puck just stared at him, mouth agape. "Remember the hot Latina she was with? That's her roommate - Santana."

Puck just blinked at him for a minute, processing Sam's words. "Are you serious right now? You knew this information and didn't tell me?"

"Excuse me? First of all, WOW. I've gotta say, you've got it sooo much worse than I thought. I just used the G word and you didn't flinch, or break out in hives, or hit me."

"Fuck you, Sam! It didn't deserve a response. I spent one night with the chick." Puck continued to refer to her . . . to Rachel . . . in the same indifferent tone he'd been trying to keep throughout the conversation. He wasn't fooling anyone.

"Yes. _All_night I believe it was." Sam looked at him meaningfully for a moment then continued. "Secondly, why would I tell you? How was I supposed to know you didn't get the most basic of information from the girl? I realize you were busy, but I assume that some time between 11:00 pm and dawn there were words exchanged. I mean I _might_ have known if you weren't so busy being a sulky bitch about the whole thing."

"Hey, I was pissed, whatever. Anyway, not the point."

"Totally the point. It all makes so much sense now."

Puck would have been annoyed by his implication, but he wasn't listening anymore. He started to wander out of the room talking more to himself than Sam. "So, Rachel. Hmmm. New York is a big place, and Rachel is a common name, but Santana . . . Santana is pretty unusual . . . she's studying music and drama . . . I guess google . . ."

Sam let him mutter for a minute before interrupting. "Oooor you could finish this conversation with me."

Puck turned back to a very amused looking Sam. "You know something else don't you."

"I might." Sam shrugged.

"Don't fuck with me Sam. What do you know?"

"Admit you're hung up on her."

"Don't be a jackass. What do you know?"

Sam just crossed his arms and waited. Puck glared at him, but finally mumbled "She was cool, alright."

"She was cool? That's it? You're about to go cyber stalk her, cause you_spent one night with the chick_ and _she was__cool_?"

"_Really_ cool, OK? Damn it Sam! Just tell me." He meant it to sound treating, but it came out almost whiny.

"Fine, fine. Don't get your panties in a bunch. So I hung out with Santana for a while. We danced a couple of times, had some drinks."

"And?"

"And I had a girlfriend at the time, so nothing really happened, but she was fun. Very . . . direct . . ."

Puck got the distinct impression that Sam was getting a kick out of toying with him. "I assume there's a point here somewhere. Find it."

"Dude, I was getting to it. Anyway, when we went our separate ways, she put her number in my phone and said to sext her sometime."

"You have her number?" Puck almost pounced on him before reigning in his reaction.

Sam laughed at him. "Not hung up, huh? Yeah, I have her number."

"Are you sure? Do you know it's her real number?"

Sam grabbed his phone and started pushing buttons, but didn't answer.

"Dude, are you blushing."

"Fuck off. And yes, it's her real number." Sam turned his phone toward Puck to show him the text on the screen.

Santana: I was hoping I'd hear from you.

Puck snatched the phone and took off around the couch. "You sexted her, didn't you?"

"Gimme my phone back!" Sam headed the other way around the couch to try to cut him off.

Puck punched some buttons and started to read aloud. "Let's see, let's see. Next message. I wish I had gotten better acquainted with your great big"

"Not funny, gimme my fucking phone!" They continued to circle the couch as Puck struggled to push buttons while avoiding Sam.

"Annnd scrooooling. Mouth. Ahahaha. That shirt's hilarious. Great big mouth."

Sam slammed into him, tackling him to the couch, and grabbed his phone back.

"None of your damn business." Sam glared at him, and looked like he might take a swing.

"Come on man, I was just messin' around. You know it was funny." He did not look amused, maybe murderous would be a better word, and Puck felt like maybe he'd crossed a line.

"Dude, I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd be so mad." He held his hands up in surrender, but Sam didn't answer, just clenched his fists.

"Seriously, why you so pissed?" When Sam still didn't answer Puck actually started to feel a little bad. "Listen, Sam. I'm sorry I looked, and I won't do it again. OK?"

Sam relaxed a little and looked at Puck. "Fine."

"So we're cool?"

"Yeah, we're cool."

He didn't sound cool, but he joined Puck on the couch and reached for a piece of pizza. He took a couple of bites in silence then spoke. He still sounded pissed. "She sent pictures, and she didn't send 'em to you, so stay out of my damn phone, OK?"

Suddenly Sam's anger made more sense. "OK. I got it."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: She's back! She's back! My muse, I mean. Sorry it's been so long, but try as I might, I just couldn't get any traction with this story. I finally had to just scrap some of my previous efforts and start fresh. Musey apparently liked this and is presently trying to dump three chapters into my brain simultaneously. I'm expecting at least 4 chapters after this one. If all goes well, I'd love to finish this story by Mardi Gras ;-) but it may take longer. If you're still with me, thanks!**

**I don't own Glee. If I did Finchel would have been a tiny bump on the road to Puckleberryville. Neither do I own "Barbie Girl", "Just You Wait", nor "What's Your Number?" (very obliquely referenced).**

* * *

"You did what?" Rachel's voice couldn't be described as anything other than a shriek.

"Would you chill the fuck out? It's not that big a deal."

"No, no, no, no, no! Absolutely not! You can NOT do this to me." She and her traitorous former friend were in a cab headed back to their apartment, and while Rachel was certain she was going to have a stroke, neither the cab driver nor Santana seemed the least concerned. Prior to this disaster, Rachel hadn't gone out in months. At all. She had patiently and repeatedly explained to Santana that she was in the last half of the last semester of her college career. She was very, very busy. It wasn't a big deal, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with their little trip to New Orleans. The week after finals Santana had finally _demanded_ that she meet her for dinner with some friends, guy friends. She'd sweetened the deal by choosing one of Rachel's favorite places - one with an extensive selection of fresh, local, organic, vegan options. No pressure, just dinner as a group. Since Santana usually tried to push her into slutty clothes and loud clubs, _just dinner_ should have been a big flashing warning sign. Hindsight never is very useful, is it?

Missed warnings aside, when she arrived at the restaurant and actually _saw_ Santana sitting in the middle of the small dining room with Puck and Sam she should have turned around and walked back out before they spotted her. She would have, but she was momentarily stunned. How was this even possible? He didn't know anything about her. Then it occurred to her that Santana must have kept in touch with Sam. Well damn. As she stood frozen, studying the small group waiting for her arrival, she noticed right away that Puck's hair was a bit longer now, and just as quickly she was wondering how it would feel to run her fingers through it. What would the texture be? It was so short the last time. His jaw was clean shaven and looked every bit as bitable as it did when he was scruffy. She took in his well worn jeans and snug t-shirt with the faded words "Free Licks" across his chest, and couldn't stop herself from pondering whether he was advertising a product - like the guy passing out warm bites of pretzel at the mall - or was it a service he was offering. That thought had her face, along with other parts of her, flooding with warmth. And then she realized that, crap, crap, crap, the reason she could read his shirt was that he was half way to her, moving deliberately with that aggravatingly sexy smirk on his face. Her opportunity for escape was gone.

"I can't do this to _you_? Not everything is about you, Rachel. In case you missed it, they're here for a reason. While you were busy taking calls from Captain Tedious, Sam was telling me how well his interview went. He has an awesome opportunity but they need him to start like yesterday. He wants to take it, but how much do you think it will cost them to stay in a hotel till they find a place? Maybe he should just turn them down and make it convenient for you." Santana's tone was harsh and condescending, but Rachel was years beyond second guessing herself at Santana's word. She had every right to be angry.

"Not about me?" She was shrieking again. "Guys we barely know and never expected to see again have been invited to stay in our apartment, and it's not about me? You tricked me into a dinner you knew I would never agree to, and it's not about me?"

Santana's tone softened a bit. "Okay, fine. That part was _a little _about you. I thought it would do you some good to see him again, and yes, I knew you wouldn't agree. We get back from Mardi Gras and you turn into an old maid - but you don't want to talk about it. You mumble his name in your sleep - but you don't want to talk about it."

Rachel's face flamed and she studied her hands in her lap. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She, of course knew exactly what Santana was talking about. While her conscious mind was certain that it was best to forget the entire episode, her subconscious had yet to get the memo. Some of the dreams were very sweet, like the one where he was playing guitar for her on a park bench, a little dark haired boy between them, or the one where they were kissing in the rain while the people around them scurried for cover, but some of them . . . will, she was just grateful that she had merely _mumbled_ his name.

"Somehow something changed for you that night. It's like you quit trying. I feel like it might be a little my fault, okay?"

Against her will, Rachel felt her anger slipping a bit. As ridiculous an misguided as it was, Santana was somehow trying to help. "I'm fine, really."

"You are not fine, and don't give me that 'busy with school' bullshit. You. Gave. Up. You bought a goddamn cat, Rach. And not in a normal way. You bought a cat and you're disturbingly bonded with the mean little shit. You'd rather stay home and sing that man-hating British song to your cat than go out with me. If that doesn't scream old maid-"

"I did not give up! I'm just being practical. He's only mean to you because he knows you don't like him, and it's not a man-hating song. It's a Broadway classic. Besides, his _name _is Henry Higgins. What else would I sing to him?"

Santana couldn't contain her snort of laughter. "The fact that you think song choice is the issue here is priceless."

Suddenly Rachel found her anger again. "No, that is definitely not the issue. The issue is that I will _not _have that man staying in my apartment!"

"It's _our_ apartment, and they're _my_ guests. Anyway, if anyone should be pissed off right now, it's me," Santana retorted. "When were you going to tell me about 20-year-plan-Ken? Last I knew you were dodging his calls. Now you're what? Back with him?"

"Thanks a lot for sharing that little nickname with the guys, by the way. I certainly hope Garrett couldn't hear you." As an after thought she added "And his genitals are not smoothed over." It sounded even more ridiculous when she said it out loud, but the whole Ken issue just got under her skin. Even Kurt, her long time frenemy turned ally, was in on it, and he barely tolerated Santana. They had this whole spiel worked out with a list of accessories (framed MBA, tailored suit, and a pile of daddy's money), a song (to the tune of Barbie Girl), and even a disclaimer (vibrator not included). They thought they were hilarious. Rachel was not amused.

"Whatever. You jumped up to take a call in the middle of dinner, shockingly bad manners, Miss Berry, and I felt they deserved an explanation."

Rachel knew Santana wasn't the slightest bit concerned about her manners and was just being snarky, but she was right none the less. Under normal circumstances Rachel wouldn't even think of taking such a call, but it had been a welcome intrusion. She had initially joined the table with her guard and her willpower both turned all the way up, but before she even realized it she had started to slip. Just sitting near him made her body hum with awareness, and they'd fallen back into playful, comfortable conversation with shocking quickness. Fortunately Garrett's name lighting up her phone had brought her back to reality.

Noah Puckerman and everything he made her want was _not _reality. It was a fantasy, and a dangerous one at that. She'd do well to keep her heart safe and stay far away from him. She meant what she said about being practical. She had learned something on her little trip down south. Before that, she had believed she was more mature than the silly, lovesick girl she was in high school, but now she knew she wasn't. She was as susceptible to unsustainable romantic fantasies as ever, and Noah Puckerman fit squarely into that category. His own words made it abundantly clear that he had the romantic attention span of a puppy after an espresso, while Rachel was a forever kind of girl. Given the quickness and intensity of the connection she felt with him, she knew that if she allowed herself to fall for him, she'd fall hard. At least she was smart enough to recognize it now. Rather than allow herself to be crushed over and over till she became a broken and bitter spinster, snapping at children and mumbling to herself in the street (And no she was not being overly dramatic. It was a highly likely outcome given her temperament), she'd decided to be realistic. Practical. And she was fine with that.

"And don't think you can just dodge my question. You've been avoiding him like genital warts for months, and all the sudden it's back on? What the hell?"

Rachel gave a long suffering sigh before repeating the explanation she'd given not an hour ago. "As I told you in the restaurant, we had a very productive conversation earlier this week, and I feel that he now understands my point of view."

"You had a productive conversation. Be still my heart," Santana deadpanned. "Rachel, he's so wrong for you. He doesn't get you, and you have nothing in common. Nothing."

"That's not true," Rachel huffed, glaring at Santana while she struggled to come up with a better answer. Garrett was a wonderful, thoughtful, handsome guy, but they were in fact very different in many ways. It was the reason she'd broken up with him in the first place. She finally spat out the only thing she could come up with. "We have animal rights in common. Ha!"

Santana rolled her eyes at Rachel's victorious tone. "Yeah, sure you do. I never bought that shit for a minute. I think he saw a hot girl working at a fundraising booth and donated a chunk of daddy's money so he could pick her up. I bet it was the first time he ever gave the owls, or the turtles, or whatever the fuck animal you were saving a second thought, but hey, what do I know?"

"Not much. And what's going on between Garrett and I is none of your business. I'm done talking about this." Rachel squared her shoulders and turned her face to the window of the cab, and Santana let it drop. Clearly Puck couldn't have come to town at a better time. Even if nothing came of it, maybe he could distract her enough to stop this Garrett thing. And she knew he would be staying with them. While most people might not know it (considering the way Rachel still occasionally sailed way past tactful) Santana knew she didn't actually like to be the bad guy.

* * *

**A/N: I'd love to hear what you think. Next - Puck's perspective (aka - the guys move in).**


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